


This (is How it Works)

by rusting_roses



Category: Young Wizards - Diane Duane
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-13
Updated: 2011-07-13
Packaged: 2017-10-22 20:34:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/242304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rusting_roses/pseuds/rusting_roses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times that Tom and Carl were asked for advice, and one time when they weren't. The trials and tribulations of relationships amongst wizards.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This (is How it Works)

**Author's Note:**

> For the dai_stiho prompt: 34. Nita/Kit and/or Dairine/Roshaun: Going to the seniors for relationship advice.

There is no such thing as good advice: there are only educated guesses and rote wisdom and hoping for the best. Still, Advisories on any level, from local to planetary to galactic arm coordinator, have to help those around them on such matters as best they can. They must, for that is their job, far more than mere aid in spell-work or the more technical aspects of wizardry: to keep the relationships around them alive and healthy, to guide the children entrusted to their care.

It's for that reason that every Advisory has nightmares that their most carefully considered advice will fail at the least opportune moment.

However, in the end, they can only speak of the hard-earned knowledge shaped by experience itself in the hopes that those they aimed to help may solve their problems with a little more patience, a little more understanding, a little more intelligence than they themselves did. It is the most truthful advice, the one that will endure.

In fact, the experience they pass on is more wisdom than anything, a doorway that opens the path but does not walk them down it.

(Tom and Carl personally think that's why it works best of all.)

~*~

1\. Kit

 _Tom nursed his coffee while Carl continued cutting up the lettuce that was to be their salad that night. Both waited patiently for the third person in the kitchen to speak. Kit hadn't said more than half a dozen words since arriving, instead choosing to stare at his drink like he expected it to hold the answers to Life's questions._

 _Which, admittedly, it might._

 _Kit's face had gotten progressively darker the longer he sat there at the table, anxiety tightening his usually mellow features. Still, neither of the Seniors spoke, waiting for Kit to breach the subject first._

 _“I think I might have said something really stupid,“ Kit blurted out. “Really stupid.“_

 _“Haven't we all?“ Tom responded philosophically, if not particularly helpfully. It broke the tension, though, and some of the strain leaked from Kit's frame._

 _He made a face. “I did,“ he insisted. “I don't think Nita would have even noticed it, if I hadn't gone and pointed it out to her. It was probably just said in the heat of the moment. Oh, God, why did I even open my mouth, what was I thinking—“_

 _“We can't help you,“ Carl interrupted smoothly, “Until you tell us what mistake you think you made.“ Despite his words, he and Tom exchanged glances; they suspected what had brought Kit here._

 _Kit bit his lip, worrying it until it was a brilliant scarlet before he asked with no small amount of fear, “How are Nita and I supposed to be partners in wizardry and still date?“_

"You've been avoiding me."

Tom started at that, but didn't turn, didn't meet Carl's eyes. Instead, he shrank in on himself, shying away from Carl's presence. Carl waited patiently for him to speak, but Tom was just as stubborn as Carl himself was, and turning the silence into a contest wasn't the way to get through to him.

"If you don't want to go out with me, you can just turn me down. We've survived much worse things," Carl tried to joke, but he couldn't help how tense his voice got. He'd been completely serious about his offer, and no one liked being told their feelings were unrequited. He'd thought...or perhaps it was just hope that led him to believe that Tom's hand lingered, that his voice deepened, that his smiles widened. Carl knew Tom better than almost anyone, though, knew him inside and out. Something _had_ changed between them.

"Maybe that's for the best," Tom agreed quietly, and he still didn't look at Carl. "Sorry." His voice was terribly neutral and flat and it absolutely cut through Carl.

He stood there, mouth open and trembling, more hurt than he'd liked to admit. This was Tom, who basked in the sun as though he thought it might disappear on him, who made some of the world's worst puns that nevertheless made Carl breathless with laughter, who had been guarding his back for over five years now. This stranger, who couldn't even look at him—

Carl grabbed Tom's arm, pulling him back, needing to see his face. He had to look into Tom's face and read the refusal there. Carl could bow out as gracefully as possible then, and leave before he embarrassed himself further. He couldn't bear to do it unless he was absolutely sure it was what Tom wanted.

Tom looked up into Carl's face, defiant. He knew that his eyes were red with both the tears he hadn't been able to keep from shedding as well as those he had. His entire body was tense and shaking and he couldn't hide the emotions on his face, not with Carl's warmth so close. "Go _away_ ," he rasped, chest absolutely aching. "We shouldn't do this—we can't do this. It's going to ruin our partnership, our wizardry, _everything_. I won't—I—I can't—"

Carl kissed him.

It was cliché, given the timing.

It was also one of the most _fantastic_ things he'd ever done.

Tom's lips were rough under his mouth, and his entire body tightened like he wasn't sure whether to lean into the touch or flee. His hands touched at his arms and chest before settling at his hips. Tom's nose was soft where it touched his cheek, eyes slipping closed as he sighed softly against his mouth. Carl pressed his advantage while he could, pulling Tom's body tight against his own so he could finally feel every line of the other man's body against his own. If nothing else, he wanted to savor this, Tom kissing him back, coaxing his mouth open, fingers slipping under his shirt—

Tom broke the kiss, shivering faintly even as his fingers stroked lightly against the strip of skin between Carl's shirt and his jeans.

"Trust me," Carl whispered into that dark space between them. The words hung faintly in the air. Tom's mouth worked for a moment, but Carl cut him off, desperate and clinging. "Trust me," he begged, "I don't want anything to happen to our partnership, to our wizardry, to _us_ any more than you do. We can figure this out, Tom." He clung, frantic, trying to get his partner to understand. "Please, Tom. Please." He waited, holding his breath.

When Tom surged up and kissed him, hard and fast, limbs entwining, Carl let out a little sound of joy that Tom swallowed down, slipping his tongue into Carl's mouth. "Yes," Tom murmured back when they caught a breath of air. "Yes, yes, _yes_ —!"

 _Tom and Carl exchanged glances, then Tom reached out, placing a warm hand on Kit's shoulder. “Trust her. After all, she doesn't want to lose you any more than you do her. Don't regret not ever trying.“_

~*~

2\. Dairine

 _“You're going to try to tell me to stop,“ Dairine accused the moment she saw Carl waiting for her. Her face was already set mulishly, but the dark circles under her eyes and the droop of her shoulders belied the challenge in her bright gaze._

 _“No,“ Carl returned evenly. “I just want to talk. See how you're doing.“ He met her eyes, expression calm and warm. “And to give you a listening ear if you need one. We_ are _worried about you Dairine. And while we understand that what you're doing is incredibly important to you, we don't want you to drive yourself too hard.“_

 _“I'm fine,“ Dairine snapped at the insinuation that she was anything less than perfectly healthy. “And I don't need you, or my dad, or Nita staring at me like I'm going to keel over. I know what I'm doing. Can't you guys just leave me alone?“ she finished, out of breath and trembling._

 _Carl just watched her, refusing to feed her anger._

 _Dairine sighed, closing her eyes tiredly. “I know, Carl. I'm alright.“ She ran a hand through the hair she'd inherited from her mother and attempted a grin. “I promise. If I'm tired, I'll rest.“_

 _“Will you?“_

 _The smile dropped away and Dairine just stood there, looking very frail and very, very young. Her mouth quivered, and she rubbed at her face to hide the way the tears were welling up._

 _Carl caught her up in a hug, then, saying nothing when hot tears dampened his shirt. Instead, he hugged her all the harder, doing his best to give her the silent reassurance she so desperately needed._

 _“How long,“ she ground out, and Dairine almost sounded like herself again, the force of her ire giving her strength, “am I supposed to wait for him?“_

"Sorry," Carl apologized, feeling awkward. "I don't feel that way about you." The words were stilted and insecure, but there really wasn't a good way of turning someone down. Carl felt exposed under Jason's keen eye, even more so since Carl had previously liked hanging out with him. He was smart and clever, and had a way of making even the most complicated of biological quandaries sound interesting.

He was also not Tom.

Jason made an excuse and fled, and Carl was thankful for the ensuing silence, though his ears continued to burn. He hadn't really noticed that Jason was paying such close attention to him, hadn't believed his friends when they all claimed that he was just selectively blind. He'd thought they were joking, or mistaken, or _something_ that shouldn't have ended with Carl being cornered and asked out to dinner. It didn't help that Jason wasn't much more than a vague friend that Carl studied and occasionally hung out with; fun enough, but not someone he'd consider amongst his nearest and dearest.

Even though they were in a secluded courtyard, Carl couldn't help but feel that everyone was staring at him, wondering what was going on. How had he let himself just ignore all the signs even after his friends assured him strenuously that Jason had only one aim in mind...Carl wanted to go find a handy window to jump out of, just to end the guilt and mortification.

As he hurried back to his dorm room, as embarrassed as he was, he tried to remember anything specific that he'd done to make it seem like he was interested in Jason in return. He couldn't recall anything, but nevertheless he knew he'd spend the majority of his coming days trying to remember every detail of their interaction, as though the science of liking someone could be boiled down to a single look, touch, word.

"Fuck," Carl breathed as he slipped into his room and shut the door behind him with a sigh.

“I told you," Derek sighed from the other side of the room. Carl glanced at him, but Derek hadn't even glanced up from his textbook.

"Shut up," Carl muttered. He wanted to sound a lot more furious than he actually was, but he mostly just sounded tired. "Why didn't you warn me?"

"I _did_ warn you. We all did, Carl. But you thought we were all ridiculous."

"That's 'cause you _are_ all ridiculous."

"True. But so are you."

"Fuck."

"I won't say I told you so."

Carl treated him to a dry look, but Derek continued to look spectacularly unfazed. Carl shook his head and sighed. He rubbed his face. "But you're thinking it. I know you are." His head dropped back and hit resoundingly against the wood door. The _thump_ was satisfying. He kicked off his shoes and dropped his bag on the floor and climbed into bed without so much as shucking off his jeans. "Powers Above, I just want to sleep until things make sense again."

Derek turned a page. "You'll be waiting a long time, you know."

"I know."

Derek finally, finally looked up, hesitating. "How long...how long are you going to wait for him?"

 _Carl sighed, and cupped Dairine's face, making sure she met his eyes. Dairine's mouth was tight when she glanced up, but she didn't flinch away. “You wait as long as you want to.“_

~*~

3\. Carmela

 _“I'm pretty sure I'm pansexual.“ Carmela announced by way of introduction as soon as Tom opened the door._

 _Tom blinked. “Um, congratulations?“_

 _“That's it?“ Carmela sounded almost put-out._

 _“Carmela, I'm pretty much the last person that would comment,“ Tom retorted dryly. “Throwing stones and glass houses and all that. Besides, you'd have to try much harder than that if you wanted to shock me. I know several worlds where things like pansexuality, polygamy and transgenderism are the norm, rather than the perceived exception to the rule it is on Earth. It's no big deal.“_

 _“Yeah,“ Carmela sighed, but her eyes were serious despite her light-hearted tone. “But how do I tell my parents that?“_

In the still of the apartment, the sound of the door opening was akin to a gunshot. Tom leapt to his feet, standing awkwardly in the main room as Carl came in, mouth set, and slung his jacket over the hook by the door. Carl didn't speak, barely looked at Tom, and the other man had to swallow around the lump in his throat.

Tom couldn't help breaking the heavy silence first, frantic with worry. When Carl had left to come out to his family, Tom had nearly begged to join him, wanting to be there for his friend, his partner, his _love_ in support. Carl had turned him down flat, however, and left him in their small apartment to fret himself practically sick with worry and stress and pain. Tom hadn't been able to keep from thinking over all of the very, _very_ bad ways this could end for Carl—and for them. His mind had been open for the slightest sigh of distress, ready to come to Carl's aid.

"Well?" he demanded, hands clasped in front of him so he wouldn't grab Carl. This wasn't him, this staid face and tense shoulders and dark eyes. Tom couldn't help fearing for the worst, even more so when Carl looked at him, really looked at him for the first time since coming into the apartment.

Carl's smile was a terrible thing to see.

Tom crossed the room in an instant, resting timid hands on Carl's hips. He knew it had to be his imagination that Carl's body was not as warm as usual, but he clutched at him tighter all the same. Tom studied the way Carl's eyes were over-bright despite the shadows in the room and leaned in, feathering a light kiss against Carl's waiting mouth.

The tender caress seemed to break him.

Carl made a desperate sound against his partner's mouth. Tom pulled back and started to ask a question, but Carl was having none of it, sealing their lips together and absolutely plundering Tom's mouth as though searching for something vital. Tom opened up to him, letting Carl set the pace, letting him control the kiss. Carl's entire length was flush against Tom's own, without room for so much as a hair to slip between them. Even then Tom kept himself relaxed, giving Carl anything he asked for and some that he didn't, matching Carl's movements with an ease that had only come after hours spent kissing this man.

He would do—had done, will do—anything for Carl.

Tom's fingers wove into Carl's hair and he forced his head back ever so slightly. The loss of even that little bit of warmth made Carl moan a little, more with a sense of loss than with residual pleasure. "Tell me," Tom pleaded, and they were still close enough that his mouth brushed against Carl's moustache and lips with every syllable. "Carl, please."

They were close enough that Tom's cheeks were wet with Carl's tears. "At least I've got my sister left," Carl choked, and the words were raw and scraped and bloody. He clung to Tom.

Tom's grip on Carl was hard enough to leave bruises. "And me. You will always have me."

And he said it in the Speech, so it was true.

 _Tom was quiet for a long moment. “I don't know how you should say it. But I do know that you need to remember that whatever else, you have us, and Kit, and Nita and Dairine. You will always,_ always _have people who love you.“_

~*~

4\. Roshaun

 _The elegant, well-bred Wellakhit prince—no, king now—was pretty much the last person Carl was expecting to set eyes on at some ungodly hour of the morning. Carl could only hope that the visit was brief and that he'd be able to keep things quiet enough that Tom would be able to catch up on the sleep he'd lost while pulling an all-nighter to meet a deadline._

 _Roshaun merely nodded in greeting, moving past Carl in an imperious gesture that suggested it was only right for Roshaun to come in and make himself at home. It seemed Dairine hadn't succeeded in breaking all of his bad habits, then. Not that Carl had any real objection, but he too was exhausted and had work in the morning. Still, being a Senior always came first._

 _“She is impossible!“ Roshaun hissed venomously before Carl even had the chance to open his mouth. Roshaun had the good tact to keep his voice low, though. “Despite being responsible for the well being of an entire planet, I have made time in my schedule to so that I may visit, all in order to please her, and what am I greeted with? Disdain and claims of tiredness and being too busy, as though I were—“ he faltered then, the haughty façade cracking for an instant. He cleared his throat and continued in a more subdued voice, “As though I were a part of the scenery, to be admired and then dismissed for a more pressing matter.“_

 _Carl hid a yawn so as not to offend his guest, and began making a pot of coffee. He offered some to Roshaun, but he waved it away. “Just water, thank you,“ he said in a more moderate tone._

 _As Carl got it for him, Roshaun shifted uncomfortably. “I—I try,“ he stammered, for once looking like the teen he was, unsure and out of his depth. “I try to make what time I can for her, for us, but it never seems enough. I am either not around enough, or around too much,“ Roshaun gestured, helpless, and Carl knew that this was not the time to point out that it was the exact same motion Dairine made when she felt that way. “Sometimes, I don't even know if she wants—“ Roshaun cut himself off, turning his face away._

 _His voice was thick as he asked, “How am I to deal with the fact that the distance between us is so much more than mere space?“_

 _It is an unfortunate fact of life that even wizards don't have the power to do as they please_ , Carl thought tiredly as he entered his tiny apartment. He rubbed at his forehead, trying to make the growing headache disappear and wishing for the millionth time that the one person he wanted to have there actually _was_.

Tom may be a wizard as well, but neither of them could afford the time or the price—magical or monetary—of visiting each other as often as they wished, now that Carl was in New York City and Tom was finishing his last year of school. On paper, a year hadn't seemed like much at all, but they were only three months in and already Carl was exhausted. It was far harder than he'd expected, to coordinate schedules just so they could talk more than once a week. Even mind speak was tiring after a point, the strain of connecting to a mind that was usually at most a few miles away preventing them from using it as they pleased. Manuals and phones just weren't the same, though, and even mind speaking to one another seemed at times a poor substitute to the sheer physicality of skin-on-skin.

Still, it was better than nothing.

Wasn't it?

Carl jumped, feeling guilty when the phone rang; it was a little after 6:30, so it was probably Tom. Carl hoped it was, at least, because he wanted desperately to hear his boyfriend's voice.

"Hey, Carl speaking," Carl said as he picked up the receiver. His free hand loosened his tie as he headed in the direction of the beat-up old sofa he'd managed to scrounge up the cash for. He blinked at the sound of his voice—he hadn't meant to sound quite so resigned and weary.

Tom, however, didn't sound much better when he breathed, "Carl."

Carl's mouth stretched in a facsimile of a smile. "You don't sound so hot."

"Working on a thesis on top of a full course load and ten hours of work a week will do that to you," Tom agreed.

"So will working full-time," Carl murmured, and he stretched out on the couch, putting his feet up with a long sigh. They feel into silence, not so much companionable as stilted. Though Carl vaguely knew most of Tom's professors and had met or was friends with most of the people Tom hung out with, it was different to have to be told things like where Amelia had misplaced her glasses this time. Furthermore, Tom didn't know any of Carl's workmates or new friends on the city, so he didn't feel comfortable sharing stories of them, no matter how amusing.

In short, there wasn't much to discuss beyond how much they desperately wanted to see each other, to talk as much as for the sex.

Tom finally broke the silence, voice small and uncharacteristically timid. "Carl, I don't know if this is working."

Carl closed his eyes, trying to keep his heart from plummeting unsuccessfully. "I love you." Tom's voice was slightly stronger now, but still low enough that Carl had to focus on the words. "I do, and I want to be with you. But this, this you not even being here, not having you there to talk to me and bake and complain about how messy I've let my room get and just..." Tom lost the thread of his words, voice growing choked. "I miss you so much. And seeing you...I know if I see you, you'll still end up having to leave. I can't stand it."

Carl found himself being forced to breath past a lump in his own throat. "Oh, Tom," he started, and then stopped himself. "Even like this," he began hesitantly. "I'd rather have you like this for now, in bits and pieces, than not at all."

 _Carl was quiet for a long moment, staring over the edge of his coffee. He seemed so lost in his thoughts that Roshaun was on the verge of repeating his question, patience still not one of his virtues. Watching the steam rise, Carl opened his mouth once and then shut it._

 _“Set aside regular, frequent times to talk or visit,“ Carl suggested. “Make it a time for just the pair of you and use it to be friends as much as to be anything...more. And take care to remind her that this isn't going to last forever. If I know you, and her, you'd rather have each other however you can rather than suffer nothing at all.“ He shrugged a little, sadly. “Alleviate that distance when you can, emotionally and mentally as well as physically.“_

 _Roshaun nodded slowly, back straightening. There was a determined glint in his eye as he stood and left without another word, but Carl didn't worry about it as he climbed back into Tom's arms; he was sure that Dairine could match him._

~*~

5\. Nita

 _The bang of Nita's sudden appearance was like a gun going off; it was a hastily done spell without any care for the sound the exploding air would cause. The minute Tom looked up, he could see why. Nita's face was blotchy and red, her eyes swollen from tears. She looked smaller than Tom remembered and he ushered her to the couch without a second thought. “Sweetie, what's wrong?“ Tom rarely used endearments, but he used the nickname casually now, worried for Nita._

 _“It's over,“ Nita choked, and fresh tears started. “We...Kit was over, and we argued, and it was so_ stupid _, but I couldn't stop myself, and we were yelling at each other, and I just...“ Nita collapsed into the chair, breaking down completely. Tom hugged her tight, rubbing her back soothingly. Nita his her face in his shoulder, entire body shaking with the force of her sobs._

 _Eventually the sobs petered out, more from lack of fluid than a desire to cease crying. Nita's breath went deeper and even, slowing out, though each inhale was ragged. When she had calmed somewhat, Tom shifted slightly, settling Nita more comfortably on the couch, hoping that her sleep would help her._

 _However, Nita made a small noise of protest and Tom quickly reassured her, “I'm just getting you some tea, water and ibuprofen. I bet you have a splitting headache.“ When Nita neither confirmed nor denied the statement, instead staring blankly at the opposite wall, Tom's mouth tightened and he brushed back Nita's hair. “Oh, honey,“ he whispered, and Nita sniffled._

 _Tom disappeared only long enough to get what he'd promised, but by the time he returned, Nita was sitting up, wrapped securely in an old plush throw that Carl frequently swore was one of the most comfortable items they owned. She gazed at him, shadows under her eyes, but she accepted the water and medicine with steady hands._

 _“Thank you.“ Her voice was little more than a dry rasp. She drank the water and pills down with one long gulp, wiping away the excess with the back of her hand. “I just...Kit...“ her breath caught in her chest, and Tom's own heart squeezed in sympathy. She closed her eyes and a few more tears slipped out. “I don't want it to end like this. I can't...it's Kit.“ She looked up at Tom beseechingly. “How can we ever fix this?“_

Carl was already home and had been for a while, from the looks of it, when Tom finally stumbled into their apartment. "What's for dinner?" Tom asked as he hung up his jacket and began stripping out of his coffeehouse uniform. It was itchy and uncomfortable no matter what Tom did to the fabric. He eyed the dress shirt and slacks Carl was still dressed in as he looked over some paperwork.

He glanced up and started. "Tom!"

"Carl!" Tom retorted in the exact same tone of voice. Then trying to inject some humor into his voice, he continues, "Were you expecting someone else?"

Carl looked vaguely guilty. "No, it's not that, it's just that I..." he trailed off and winced. "I haven't exactly started dinner. I meant to, really, but I had these proposals and I thought I'd just do two before I started cooking since you'd be home late anyway..."

"You lost track of time," Tom stated flatly. He rubbed at his face. Anger flared, coupled with hunger, and he snapped, "This is the third time this week alone!" He shook his head and walked into their tiny kitchen. The food wouldn't cook itself, after all.

Carl glared at him, mouth hard. "I'll do it."

The anger left him, and Tom mostly felt tired. "No, you've got the paperwork." Not tired enough though, apparently, to keep from sounding bitter about it and he couldn't help from thinking, _It's not like I've got anything better to do._

Carl had always heard him in the ways that mattered, however, and he stared at Tom.

Tom blanched, then flushed, purposefully tuning to the fridge to see what could be made quickly, hoping that Carl would let the thought pass.

"What did you say?" Carl asked in an eerily calm voice that made Tom bristle.

 _Or maybe not_.

"When was the last time we were able to take a night or a weekend off, when you didn't have something critical to do for work?" Tom demanded, finally turning to face his partner.

Carl's eyes flashed. "I see. Yes. Because wanting to prove I should be moved up when Elliot retires is a bad thing. Shame on me for trying to get ahead. Yeah, that means some work being brought home—"

"Some?" Tom interrupted incredulously, but Carl just talked over him, "I'm doing this for us, Powers Above! Don't you want to be able to live someplace where you have enough room to open both the bedroom and bathroom door at the same time without them running into each other?" He gestured at the paperwork. "Do you think I want to spend my time doing this?"

"It's always something!" Tom cried. "First you were spending your free time trying to make sure they hired you after your internship ended, then you were trying to get out of filing and answering phones into something more useful, now this—you're not here at all anymore, not really!"

Furious, Carl stood and gesticulated. "What do you want me to do? Just abandon my work? It's not like I've got your job—" Carl cut himself off, but the words had been spoken and rang heavily in the sudden silence. Without another word, Carl gathered his jacket and left.

Tom stood there, frozen and miserable. He'd come in that night spoiling for a fight, and he'd gotten it. It was just so hard, sometimes, to look at how quickly Carl was finding his way in the world and how well he was doing, when only one in one hundred pieces that Tom sent out was being accepted. Carl always said his moment would come, but it wasn't coming soon enough. Tom's eyes filled and then overflowed and he buried his face in his hands, practically sick with guilt.

What had he been thinking?

Tom waited a long hour for Carl to come back, the TV going mindlessly in the background while Tom's thoughts chased themselves in ever more terrible circles. At his wit's end, he started baking and cooking with a single minded determination, needing to both do something with his hands and wanting to be able to give something, _anything_ to warm him when he came home.

Carl had to come home.

He had to stop himself from reaching out and simply begging Carl to return, especially as it crept towards three in the morning. New York City was perhaps safer for a wizard than most others at that hour, but wizardry was not a guarantee of safety.

Anxious and exhausted, Tom pulled out another tray of oatmeal chocolate chip cookies, Carl's favorite, from the over and promptly dropped it when he turned to put it on the counter and Carl was standing in his path.

He looked wan and cold and worried and haggard, and he was the most amazing thing Tom had ever seen.

"I brought you this." Carl offered him the bag, which bore the symbol of their favorite all-night Chinese place a few blocks down, but Tom knocked it aside when he dove for Carl, pressing fevered kisses against cool flesh.

"Sorry," they both gasped at the same time, laughter bubbling up through the tears. Carl kissed him then, with unmistakable intent, sliding a thigh between Tom's legs, slipping his tongue inside Tom's mouth—

They would talk, and talk properly, but for now Tom just wanted Carl here, body warm against Tom's own.

 _Tom rubbed Nita's back slowly, a soothing gesture that he hoped would help her catch her breath. Nita took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, the tightness of her face easing just a little. Tom smiled at her gently, and Nita returned the look tremulously._

 _“I've found,“ Tom admitted quietly, “That regardless of the circumstances, saying sorry is usually the best place to start.“ He paused then added in a voice that was only a touch dry, “Peace offerings help. Carl is fond of oatmeal chocolate chip cookies.“_

 _Nita stared, and then lost herself in a little chuckle. Wiping at her eyes, she said in a voice that wobbled only a little, “Kit likes fruit tarts.“_

 _Tom's mouth curved up as he pulled her to her feet. Nita went willingly, the light coming back into her eyes. “Then I suggest you come with me and take a peek at our raspberries.“_

~*~ 

They didn't really talk about marriage at all. After all, they were already together in every sense of the word that mattered to either of them, so even when the general populaces' attitude towards homosexuality shifted, it wasn't something they were concerned about. There were far too many things of greater importance on one level or another. Besides, they were already as committed as two people could be towards one another, and vows or registering wouldn't make a difference to that.

Once, Carl thought about Tom about going out to California with him to get married, but it had been an idle thought, set aside in favor of doing things that were unspeakable in polite company. Tom, in turn, thought about doing the same, but he'd gotten distracted by the fact that whatever it was Carl was cooking smelled delicious.

And then the state of New York moved to pass gay marriage.

It wasn't as though that single thing changed everything; it was some matter of months before Tom, quite suddenly, looked up from what he was writing and asked, "Marry me?" in a voice that was a touch more practical than romantic. He hadn't expected the words to come out, hadn't bought a ring, hadn't even really thought about it all that much except for the fact that it would be nice to say that he was Carl's as much as Carl was his.

Carl laughed and laughed, and kissed Tom soundly when he made a disgruntled noise at Carl's reaction. "Of course. I suppose you're not going to get down on one knee?"

Tom just raised an eyebrow. "I've got a deadline in a week."

"That's not a no."

"I wouldn't hold your breath over it."

Carl hummed his agreement and planted another long, slow, smoldering kiss on Tom's mouth. "That can wait. Come upstairs with me," he coaxed, trying to draw Tom in the direction of their bedroom. Tom stood willingly enough, but remained in place when Carl tugged at his shirt.

"This is a rather enormous undertaking we've rather spontaneously decided to do, isn't it?" Tom asked before Carl could bodily drag him upstairs. Or perhaps he'd just do a spell to get them there; Carl wasn't picky, so long as it actually got them there.

"It's a little quickly to be having cold feet already. Aren't you supposed to wait for that sort of thing until the morning of?" Carl asked, but he was more intent on making Tom as breathless as possible, winding his fingers into Tom's hair and pressing against his body greedily, trying to get as close as humanely possible.

"Yes but—" Tom protested.

Carl cut him off with, "But nothing. At best, we'll love each other more than ever and at worst, we'll have more cautionary tales to tell the kids. May as well learn from our mistakes, right?"

"I'm pretty sure they've been doing it all along," Tom groused, but let himself be pulled out of the kitchen at last. "I mean, really, I—"

Carl interrupted him again, saying, "You just proposed to me. I'm pretty sure we're supposed to be very romantically getting it on right now, not discussing the relative merits our marriage will have for our Advisees."

Tom burst out laughing. "You just said 'romantically getting it on'. Really, Carl?"

"That's it!" Carl snagged Tom by the waist, rapidly murmuring the necessary words for the translocation spell that would take them up the stairs. They disappeared from the kitchen with a muted bang, joking words quickly turning fevered and private and leaving absolutely no room for doubt.

Much later, Carl murmured the words, "I do," into Tom's damp skin, and grinned.


End file.
